


No Matter How Small

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hiding Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, This Is Such A Bad Idea Especially When Óin Is Your Big Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And when did you get this?"</p>
<p>At first, Glóin said nothing, biting his lip and looking anywhere other than his brother's ice-cold mask of calm. At an encouraging growl from the elder, he finally mumbled something inaudible.</p>
<p>Óin put his trumpet to his ear. "What?"</p>
<p>"'Bout a minute ago."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter How Small

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AI07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AI07/gifts).



"Coming to get the firewood, brother?"

Óin shook his head. "Sorry, lad, you're on your own today. Guess who pushed his brother off his pony _again_?"

"Dwalin?"

Óin grinned. "Aye, that'd be something to see! Don't go too far, will you?"

"Yeah, I know. I'll be back soon."

"Glóin, don't cut branches off with your knife again, alright? You nearly took your finger off the last time!"

"I won't."

"Good to hear. I'll see you later on." Óin said, turning to the young blonde. "Right. Where does it hurt _this_ time?"

* * *

It wasn't that Glóin disrespected his brother's thoughts, but he'd never had any problems cutting through branches and sticks before, so he snapped the ones he could and used his knife to saw through the thicker ones. He'd cut three already and this one was nearly broken through. Quickening his pace, he wondered how long it would take, seconds before a searing pain sliced through his thumb. Using all his strength to not cry out in agony, he grabbed his thumb, cringing at the hot liquid seeping through the worryingly deep cut and then extended his arm, fumbling at his tunic to rip a piece off to use as a makeshift bandage. It came off with a soft tearing sound and he tied it around his thumb tightly, praying that the bleeding would soon end. Shoving his hand in his pocket, he scooped up the branches and went back to camp, wondering how to broach the subject of his injury to Óin.

He wouldn't be happy, no doubt about that.  Glóin could almost see his expression, could practically hear the words. 

Óin didn't _have_ to know, did he? Surely the cut would heal soon. Perhaps now would be a good time to dig out his gloves and wear them to avoid over-curious eyes.

 Taking his hand back out of his pocket, he tucked his sleeve over his thumb and held the pile tightly with both hands before placing them by his brother. 

"Good one, laddie, that-" Óin paused,  peering closely at them. His jaw set. "Glóin. Why is it that four of them are smooth at the ends and the others are jagged?" 

"Um..I don't know, brother."

"Did you cut them?"

"N-no."

Óin straightened up, giving him a  look all little brothers (even grown-up ones) dread to see. "So, why is there blood smudged on your hand, then?"

Glóin paled. Óin's dark eyes travelled to his injured thumb where a steady trickle of blood dropped through his sleeve. 

"Show me."

He did, wincing at the cold dampness. Óin carefully unwrapped the 'bandage' and inhaled sharply. "And when did you get this?"

At first, Glóin said nothing, biting his lip and looking anywhere other than his brother's ice-cold mask of calm. At an encouraging growl from the elder, he finally mumbled something inaudible.

Óin put his trumpet to his ear. "What?"

"'Bout a minute ago." 

"Did you cut the branches?"

"Yes. I didn't think this would happen, brother, I-"

"You _knew_ it could. I _told_ you not to. You could have nicked a vein and _bled out!"_

"I'm sorry."

Pushing him to sit on a log, Óin crouched before him, tenderly holding the wounded hand. "You know what I might have to do, don't you?"

Clenching his free hand, Glóin nodded.  

"Here." Óin pressed a clean rag over the bleeding. "We'll try and stop the flow with this. I don't expect you have cut anything particularly important, so it shouldn't take long."

The rag wasn't painful, but it was uncomfortable and it was probably Óin staying beside him, holding his hand in both of his that stopped Glóin  from jerking his hand away. Once or twice, Óin lifted it to check on the flow and replaced it with a quiet nod. After several minutes, he lifted it up once more and then removed it completely, lying it on his knee and rummaging through his satchel for the bandage-roll. Tearing off a strip, he placed the old rag on his satchel, and delved back into the bag, locating a green pot that Glóin  knew far too well from his childhood and most of his adolescence.   
The stinging lotion was carefully dabbed onto the cut and Óin placed a new rag on it before tightly tying the material to his brother's thumb with the bandage.

"There. It shouldn't bleed much more now."

 "You won't stitch it?"

"It doesn't need stitching, luckily for you." Óin knelt and tipped his brother's chin up. "Next time I tell you to not do something, _don't do it_. I wouldn't be able to bear it if something happened to you."

"I'm sorry, nadad."

"I know." Óin pulled himself to his feet and sat beside his sibling. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, he brought him closer. "I should've clobbered you more when we were lads. Maybe then you'd listen more."

"I'll listen next time."

Óin smiled softly. "That'd be good."


End file.
